


Roof Time

by AsterismPinoideae



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Date Rape Drug/Roofies, F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:13:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25249717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsterismPinoideae/pseuds/AsterismPinoideae
Summary: Mabel has a bad night, and Dipper pays for it.
Relationships: Dipper Pines/Mabel Pines
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	Roof Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinkpines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkpines/gifts).



> This was a Valentine's Day fic dedicated to my dear friend Pink Pines, originally posted on my Tumblr either February 2014 or 2015.

The basement was loud and smelled like a boys' locker room, full as it was of teen boys doing all manner of things teen boys liked to do. In every corner there was some sort of activity, from pool to arcade games to football to watching videos of cheerleaders, and everywhere Mabel looked boys were laughing, shouting, punching each other, and wrestling for dominance.  
  
Mabel sat, marooned in one corner, beside a very noisy game of Fight Fighters. She had been shoved into a large bean bag chair some time ago, then handed a cup of something that tasted a lot like Hawaiian Punch with Tang and Kool-Aid mixed in, and hadn't seen the boy she had come with since. She'd met plenty others, though, all intent on refilling her cup or peeking up her skirt, but her bewildered lack of enthusiasm for either soon put them all off.  
  
Awkwardly, she sipped from her cup, filled to the brim with some dreadful mixture of sweet and powdery drinks. It was a deep shade of red and horribly sugary, and as she drank she could feel a sort of candy coating forming at the back of her throat. It wasn't very good, but it was there, and it was as good a distraction as any from the fact that she'd been abandoned in this corner of a stranger's basement by her new boyfriend.  
  
Bitterly, she recalled the moments leading up to this night, all the times she'd stayed up far too late, giggling over the boy with the fancy name who'd asked her out one day, completely out of the blue. Of course she could never say no to someone with a name like Richmond Whitefield, who had showered her in hundreds of roses and brought her ice cream every day at lunch. Before she'd known what was happening, he'd begun introducing her as his girlfriend, and it had only been a week since she'd met him, but she'd gone along with it. Why not? He was funny and sweet and incredibly handsome, and he had come along just when she had been falling into a boyfriendless slump of despair. He had picked her up and dusted her off, and then he had asked her to be his date at a Valentine's party in his friend's basement.  
  
She had said yes unhesitatingly, without stopping for even a second to question why a Valentine's party should be in anyone's basement. She had envisioned three or four other couples to meet, and something like a tea party, with lovely decorations and mountains of heart-shaped glitter and candles and chocolate roses and fondue, and a romcom projected up on a wall somewhere, and cuddling under the stars and listening to the radio turned down low and a boy who knew exactly how to hold her to let her know she was important to him. She'd spent weeks planning this outfit, right down to the heart-topped chopsticks in her hair, to the minute hearts on her nails, to the strawberry lip gloss tucked away safely in her bra, for the moment he would lean in to kiss her.  
  
Oh, what a fool she had been, she thought now, as she sat uncomfortably in the too-deep chair, watching two boys roll across the carpet nearby, punching and kicking. She was upset with herself for her naive enthusiasm, but, even more so, she was upset at Richmond, the perfect-toothed jerk who'd brought her to this party (could she even call it a party?) when he'd known there would be no other girls there, and who had left her to fend for herself while he went off to god knew where with his buddies. Had she somehow led him to believe she would enjoy this, to join a horde of sweaty males as they yelled at television screens and played strip pool?  
  
Even the punch was letting her down. Normally sugar was her best friend, but the too-sweet drink was making her feel a little lightheaded, and there wasn't anything else to drink, besides a few liters of carbonated mineral water she'd seen lying around. She hated the stuff, as she hated anything that should be sweet but wasn't. So punch it was.  
  
She drained her cup, and looked around for a flat space to set it down. She was surrounded by junk - random items that seemed to accumulate wherever boys could be found - but ceased her search when a pair of long legs approached her.  
  
She looked up - and up and up and up; her seat on the bean bag was very uncomfortable indeed - and saw the perfect, shiny smile of Richmond, who was looking at her so fondly she forgot to be upset.  
  
"Need a refill?" he said, reaching for her cup, ignoring the hand she offered him to help pull her to her feet.  
  
"Richmond, not that I don't like it, but it's a little too - " she began, but he shushed her, putting a finger to his perfect lips, and she was distracted by his cupid's bow.  
  
"Hush, My Bell," he said, and she couldn't help melting a little at that. She had heard a lot of boys' creative pet names for her over the years, but 'My Bell' was her favorite so far. No one had ever compared her to a bell before.  
  
"I'm going to get you more punch, and then would you care to join me in playing poker?"  
  
Her mouth dropped open as she froze in uncertainty. She had no interest in playing anything card-related, especially as she suspected they were playing for money, but, on the other hand, he was inviting her to do something other than watch round after round of Fight Fighters, and she'd been practically praying for him to do just that not a minute before.  
  
Hesitant, she began, "I don't think I'd - "  
  
He interrupted again, this time with a smile so sweet she couldn't stand not reciprocating. "You can be my lucky charm."  
  
Surprised and flattered, she mumbled something to the effect of an agreement. He took her cup from her and went to the back of the room, where the drinks were set out. Mabel waited for him for a few moments, but soon realized she had to pee, and so struggled up from the chair with considerable effort, managing to flash the entire line of video gaming boys. The fact that they had seen her lucky fuzzy duckling panties somehow did not make the date any better. Before that day, before that very moment, she would have thought it could never be a bad day to wear a tutu. But, then again, she would also never have thought a date for Valentine's day could be awful.  
  
She glanced around the basement, spotting Richmond by the far wall, his back to her. She approached him, stepping carefully around piles of roughhousing boys, to ask after the location of the bathroom, but stopped cold several feet from him when she saw him slip a bag of something from his pocket and pour it into her refilled cup.  
  
Time seemed to slow down as she watched him glance over his shoulder, away from where she stood, dipping a finger into the mix to stir it up. His perfect mouth slipped into an easy smile as he crumpled the bag up and stuffed it back into his pocket, and his hands, perfect for holding as they walked together down the school halls, picked up the cup, careful not to spill any, as he turned to bring it to her.  
  
She was closer than she'd thought, and as he turned, he bumped into her, and the cup spilled all down her brand new blouse, the one with oranges patterned across it. The one she'd bought specifically for this date.  
  
"Mabel," he said, shocked, blinking slowly from her soaked and quickly staining top to her face, eyes open wide in surprise. In her dull shock, she couldn't help but notice how lovely his eyelashes looked, splayed wide like flower petals. his mouth, with that distracting cupid's bow, made a perfect heart shape as he pursed his lips in surprise.  
  
Slowly, time seemed to come back to its senses, just as Mabel did.  
  
"What were you putting in my cup?"  
  
He blinked a few times, turning back to the table to pour a drink afresh.  
  
"Punch," he said. "Here, I'll get you another - "  
  
"No, Richmond," she said, as sternly as she could manage through the fearful tremble in her voice. "I mean the stuff in the bag, I saw - "  
  
"What bag?" he said, and his cool and casual demeanor was back, like a mask slipped over his shock. "There was no bag, My Bell."  
  
"Yes there - yes there _was!"_ Mabel shrieked, drawing attention from all the boys in the basement. They fell silent, looking her way, even as they continued to mash buttons and spin handles on foosball tables and lay down cards. Mabel ran her fingers down her front, through the bright stain marring her perfect Valentine's date outfit, feeling the grit of whatever had been in her drink on her skin. It hadn't dissolved all the way, and she picked a small crumb of something white out of her cleavage with trembling fingers.  
  
"What is this?" she hissed, shoving it under Richmond's nose.  
  
"Mabel," he said, his voice soft and velvet-edged, hands flat towards her like she was some wild animal to be tamed. "I just thought you'd like to loosen up a little. You're so uptight."  
  
"Me? Uptight?" Mabel shoved him back, fingers aching to grip his skin hard enough to tear, to make him sorry. "You've been spiking my drinks all night, haven't you?!"  
  
"Oh, come on, like you didn't ask me to," he scoffed, coming close to invade her space, to run a hand down her arm.  
  
She shivered at his touch, her stomach turning. "No, I didn't!"  
  
He rolled her eyes, his perfect mouth a perfectly cruel hook as he laughed at her. "You told me you wanted to have fun. You said yourself you'd been looking forward to this all week; what, did you think we were going to watch The Proposal and eat chocolate covered strawberries all night? Come on."  
  
Mabel's mouth dropped open, shocked and hurt. Tremblingly, she whispered, "I want to go home."  
  
He stepped ever closer. "I'll take you."  
  
"He'll _take her,_ alright," someone shouted from some corner of the room, and all the boys erupted into hoots and hollers. Mabel felt tears spring to her eyes, something ugly and black and sharp clenching around her heart, and she backed away, prying his fingers from her arm.  
  
"I'll walk," she whispered, eyes stinging as they filled with tears, and she turned and tripped across the room, dancing around clusters of boys and their junk, dashing up the stairs and into the kitchen.  
  
The house was huge, and she had entered it, two hours or so ago, with wide eyes. All the surfaces were polished to perfection, all the corners sharp and precise. It was unlike any house she had ever seen, the floors wide and open, each room pristine and still, the cluttered basement a stark opposite to the studied tidiness of the rest of the house.  
  
Now, she barely even glanced at all the silver, shining appliances, the flawless surface of the marble countertop and the sleek doors of the refrigerator. She spun on socked feet until locating the doorway, tearing through it at what seemed a turtle's pace, thanks to the shiny, waxed floors and her pink ballerina socks. She slid into the entrance hall and collided with a wall, dropping to her knees to sort through the pile of dusty and muddy boy's shoes beside the front door, searching desperately for her own shoes; the pink sneakers with rainbow laces and orange wings.  
  
She tossed shoe after shoe aside, but could not find the ones she was looking for. Behind her, she heard several pairs of footsteps on the stairs, in the kitchen, and when she shot a glance over her shoulder, a handful of boys were approaching from down the hall.  
  
Panicked, she got up and ran, leaving her shoes behind. She tore out the door and down the porch steps and across the yard, her toes already beginning to freeze in the cold February evening. The sunset was pink overhead and the few clouds drifting across the sky were shades of cotton candy, and the street was empty and the air was frigid and she could see her breath before her.  
  
The front door crashed shut, and she spun to see who had followed her, her feet cold and now beginning to soak through as she stood in a bed of soil, all ready to be planted for spring. She looked up in time to see Richmond leap off the porch and stride towards her, all confidence and purpose in his walk, his bright eyes locked on her.  
  
"Mabel, are you crazy?" he said, the moment he was near enough that his voice wouldn't carry across the street to the other houses, lit up with families just sitting down to dinner. "You can't walk home in this weather, you'll freeze."  
  
"Well, it's better than to spend one more _moment_ with you," she spat back, stepping back and stumbling on some stones lining the walk. "I never want to see you again, Richmond Whitefield, never again!"  
  
"Mabel, come on, it was an honest mistake," he said, holding his hands out to her imploringly. "I really thought I understood what you meant. I would never hurt you, My Bell. Not on purpose."  
  
Mabel looked him over sharply, but felt her resolve softening a little when she looked at his face. He did look truly sorry for upsetting her. He had the downcast look of someone who'd just lost all chances of dating their dream girl, and Mabel couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Maybe she had been a little hasty, running out of there like that. Maybe they just needed to sit down and talk it through before she made any more rash decisions.  
  
"Look, I'll make it up to you," he said, taking her by the elbow and leading her back up to the porch. Under the light by the door, he leaned her against the siding, then took up his place next to her, hands buried deep in his pockets. She glanced down at their feet, her muddy ballerina socks and his bare toes, wet with grass stains. She felt horribly silly for running all the way out here.  
  
"Listen, I really like you, Mabel, and I... I know my friends can be a little crazy, sometimes, but I think you would really like them if you got to know them," he began, locking eyes with her and keeping her there, unable to look away from his steady gaze. "That stuff I gave you... I wasn't really measuring it out, but I don't think you had enough to do anything. Do you feel any different?"  
  
"I feel... a little dizzy," Mabel confessed, closing her eyes to assess the damage. Now that she was paying attention, her forehead was starting to feel a little clammy, and her stomach was just beginning to move about in a way she was sure would spell trouble in a little while. Her fingers were maybe a little numb, her legs a little shaky under her. She wondered if he would object to sitting down.  
  
"Anything else?" he asked, and her eyes sprang open in surprise when his voice was whispered in her ear, rather than said normally. He was suddenly standing a lot closer to her, sort of leaning into her, pinning her in place, there against the siding of his friend's house. He ran his hands up and down her stomach, her arms, her hips, and her skin shivered at his touch, her legs trembling, weak. She couldn't be sure if she was scared or tired or just succumbing to the effects of whatever he'd given her, but she felt about ready to pass out into his arms.  
  
As her eyes drooped closed, she was distantly aware of his hands, leaving trails of something that bubbled under her skin in their wake. She felt nice, whatever was happening to her, and she thought she could stay like that forever, if it weren't for the numbing cold of the porch, seeping its way through her thin socks.  
  
All at once, her eyes snapped open when she felt Richmond drag his hands up her torso to take handfuls of her breasts.  
  
"Richmond!" She squealed, shoving him off her, which threw her more off balance than it did him, and she staggered a few steps away, bracing herself against the front door. "What do you think you're doing?!"  
  
He just looked at her, as though irritated. He glanced at the way her knees were shaking, the way her hand was slapped almost desperately against the wood of the door, the way she kept blinking and shaking her head, struggling to keep him in focus, and he gave a defeated sigh.  
  
"Would've pegged you for a lightweight," he said, stepping forward to take her by the shoulder. She tensed, ready to do her best to fight him off, but he only shoved her further back, away from the door, opening it and going back inside without another word.  
  
After the heavy wood of the door slammed shut, Mabel stood there, stunned, blinking into space, until Richmond's voice, raised from indoors, said, "Second base, boys!" followed by a very loud chorus of boos.  
  
Stomach churning, Mabel shoved herself away from the side of the house and trotted back across the yard, intending to walk home, despite being completely lost. She had never been to this neighborhood before, and hadn't been paying attention when Richmond had driven them there. She remembered, with a sickening little pang, that she had been too busy staring at him, wondering if he thought her updo was childish, or too fancy for her plain face.  
  
She stumbled, colliding with one of the boys' cars lined up along the curb, and was startled to find it was Richmond's car. Had she any other presence of mind, she might have smashed his windows with a rock, or keyed the length of it, or even punctured the tires or broken the headlights. As it was, as muddled and full of strange sensations as she was, she only thought to bend over his hood to be sick, rather than the flower beds nearby.  
  
She set off, then, down the kindest, friendliest-looking street, occasionally stumbling to this side or that, following it absently as the night dragged on. Her toes went completely numb not long in, and her fingers followed suit soon enough. Her throat felt rubbed raw by the icy night air, her thin, damp, sleeveless top providing the least amount of protection from the elements possible, but there was nothing she could do but keep walking, so she did. Past endless houses with cozy-looking window boxes and the blue glow of television screens illuminating the windows, past the occasional store or shop, darkened and empty. She couldn't know what time it was, or where she was, or how long she had been walking, only that she was very, very glad, indeed to finally spot something familiar: a collection of plastic deer in the yard of a corner house.  
  
She'd seen those deer before, from those few times she had decided to take a different route than usual home from school. Using them, she was finally able to reorient herself. She realized she wasn't too far from home, but was farther than she would have liked. Still, this ray of hope gave her some inner warmth, and she set off in the right direction with a determined smile on her face.  
  
Finally, after what seemed like forever, she saw her home, and sped up her pace, ignoring the sharp stones of the roadside that jabbed at the soft parts of her feet painfully. She practically skipped to the door, prepared to burst in and kiss the entryway rug in gratitude, but realized, belatedly, that the door was locked, and she didn't have her key on her. It, along with her phone, was in her bag, which she'd stupidly left in Richmond's car.  
  
Stupid, _stupid_ Mabel! she chided herself, smacking the heels of both hands against her forehead in frustration. On the verge of tears, she peeked around the corner of the house into the driveway, but there was no car. Of course there wouldn't be, she remembered, with yet another painful strike to her forehead. Her parents had gone on a romantic Valentine's cruise for the entire week, and wouldn't be back for two more days. Dipper would still be home, of course, since he hadn't had any plans for the day, but - Mabel glanced up at the stars overhead, trying in vain to gauge the time - there was no telling whether he'd still be awake.  
  
Angrily, she jabbed at the doorbell rapidly, then knocked with all her strength, much too exhausted, cold, and angry to bother with any sort of courtesy for her brother. She waited then, for several long minutes, ringing the bell again every few seconds, until a faint thudding could be heard, what she assumed was Dipper running down the stairs. Then there was a distinct crash and one particularly nasty swear word, the screech of furniture dragging against wood, another, more muffled thud, and then, finally, the sound of the deadbolt unlatching, and Mabel was bathed in light as the door finally opened.  
  
On any other night, Mabel could have kissed him right then. Her savior, her protector, her anchor, her brother. She would have hugged him tight and sobbed out the whole awful story into his shoulder, beginning with the ice cream at lunch and ending with the plastic deer, and he would have brought her hot cocoa and blankets and insisted she soak her feet, and would have held her until she fell asleep watching her favorite movie, or maybe listening to him explain String Theory. It would have been a perfect way to end a perfectly shitty Valentine's day, and in the morning she would have made french toast and he would have turned on Tiger Fist and everything would have been great.  
  
Except.  
  
This was not any other night.  
  
Mabel eyed her brother, standing in the doorway, panting and wincing at whatever he'd obviously just bashed his toe into, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and the same ratty old tee he'd been wearing since he was twelve. His hair was a mess of static electricity over his head, as though he'd just yanked off a knit hat, or something, and his cheeks were, suspiciously, glowing bright red.  
  
"Where were you? What took you so long?" Mabel demanded.  
  
"Nothing," he panted, tugging her over the threshold by the elbow. "Get in here, it's freezing out."  
  
"It's not that cold," Mabel grumbled, as he shut the door behind her. She was in a snippy mood, and already she could tell she was going to say something she'd regret. Just the thought of trying to be nice had her hackles raising, though. She'd tried nice. Look where it had gotten her.  
  
"Jeez, what happened to you?" Dipper asked, taking her in, her stained top and her half-undone updo and her red nose, rubbed raw, and her blackened toes, beginning to poke through the thin material of her filthy socks. "You're all - "  
  
"I noticed, thanks," Mabel snapped, angrily yanking the drooping, heart-topped chopsticks the rest of the way out of her hair. Dropping them at her feet, she then seized the neck of her ruined top, pulling it off over her head. "Why don't you try saying something useful, for once?!"  
  
His mouth snapped shut at that, two bright spots of color appearing on his cheeks. She regretted her words the instant they left her mouth, but the way he was looking at her, all hurt and concerned, somehow made her even angrier. She couldn't stand to look at him, so instead dropped her gaze to examine her bra with a furrowed brow and tightly pursed lips. Her lucky bra, the fuzzy duckling one that matched the panties, was completely ruined. The dye in the punch had stained it horribly, and it was now sticking uncomfortably to her skin. Worst of all, the fuzzy ducklings weren't even fuzzy, anymore. Now they were all crusty and awful.  
  
She unhooked it, pissed beyond belief, and had to hold in a sob as she unpeeled it from her flesh, her strawberry lip gloss falling to the floor uselessly.  
  
She noticed Dipper staring, then, and shot him a glare so poisonous the hurt expression returned to his face.  
  
"Mabel," he said softly, bowing his head, either in an effort to refrain from ogling or to appear contrite, she neither knew nor cared. "What happened? Where are your shoes? Didn't - "  
  
"I don't want to talk about it," she said darkly, rubbing a hand over her bare chest, as though to erase the memory of Richmond's hands on her.  
  
"If you would just - "  
  
"I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT," she shrieked, throwing her bra at him in a sudden fit of rage. He ducked, looking alarmed, retreating a few steps.  
  
"Mabel - "  
  
"Would you just LEAVE ME ALONE," she cried, balling up her top to throw, as well. He backed up to the foot of the stairs, the hurt on his face now as evident as his birthmark. That expression turned to alarm when Mabel bent to retrieve shoes from their place beside the door, her sights locked on him as a target. He turned and hurried back up the stairs, and Mabel waited until she heard his footsteps in the hall overhead before dropping the shoes, slumping against the door, exhausted.  
  
She sighed, the regret for her words churning blackly in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't meant to snap, but she couldn't apologize now. She still didn't want to tell Dipper anything about what had happened with Richmond, but the only way to get that through her brother's big dumb head was by getting mad. If she apologized, she'd only end up yelling, again. That, or she'd spill the whole thing, and she was sure she wouldn't be able to handle Dipper getting worked up about what Richmond had done. She was mad enough about it, already.  
  
And besides, she would never be able to live with herself if he got suspended for punching Richmond in the face in her honor, no matter how satisfying it would be to watch.  
  
Rolling her head back against the door, she noticed a sprig of mistletoe hanging over the doorway. It was the very same one she'd hung with care back in December, when the holiday spirit had filled her heart and lifted her spirit, and all that jazz. Their father had been trying to get her to take it down for weeks, as it kept shedding leaves and berries, but she had insisted on keeping it up, at least until after Valentine's day. It only made sense, she'd protested; the kissing plant and the kissing holiday. They went together like St. Patrick's day and the color green.  
  
Mabel stared up at the thing, only a skeleton, now. She couldn't help feeling as though the bare branches were somehow mocking her, laughing at her for having no one to kiss. Her heart felt as barren as the sad little twig, now.  
  
She groaned. She had always considered it bad luck to move from beneath mistletoe without having kissed somebody, and she'd had her fill of bad luck, today, thank you very much. but she couldn't very well call Dipper back down just to kiss him and then send him away, again. That wouldn't be very nice. Plus, she had just said horrible things to him! She'd insulted him and thrown things, and she'd hurt his feelings! He probably hated her, now, and would rather throw her back outside than give her a lucky kiss.  
  
_Nice going, 'My Bell',_ she chided herself harshly. She'd just chased off the only boy in the world she could trust.  
  
She glanced warily up at the mistletoe again. She could really use a lucky kiss, right about now.  
  
Spotting the cat watching her from under the coffee table, she called him over, snuggling him into a tight embrace once he was within reach. He squirmed, mewling in protest, but Mabel just hugged him tighter, planting a big smooch on top of his head.  
  
"At least you still love me, Mr. President," she said, turning him to face her, giving him a quick peck on his adorable kitty lips. With one last angry yowl, he wriggled free, giving her his nastiest glare and lashing his tail fiercely before stalking from the room.  
  
Satisfied with her lucky kiss, Mabel wearily collected her clothing from the floor and slowly started up the stairs. Even if a lucky mistletoe cat kiss canceled out her ruined bra and top, her day had still been decidedly horrible, and her chest, still sticky with punch, now had attracted a fine layer of cat fur. She needed a shower, but, as she made her way into her room to strip the rest of the way, decided on a bath. Baths usually made things better. Even things like this. She had been through a lot. She deserved a bath.  
  
She gave her bedside fishtank only a cursory glance as she stepped out of her tutu and now-luckless fuzzy duckling panties, checking up on its inhabitants but not really seeing them. She balled up all her clothes and scooped her robe up off the floor where she'd dropped it after her last bath, and took them into the bathroom she shared with her brother.  
  
It was a mess in there, as usual. There were heaps of laundry everywhere, among mountains of makeup and earrings and scrunchies and books, pages slowly wrinkling with condensation, and Mabel shoved a pile of Dipper's semi-folded and dubiously clean underwear onto the floor to make room for her own things. She shoved as much laundry as she could into the laundry chute that led to the basement utility room, and hung her robe up beside the door. She spent the next ten minutes tending to her face with all manner of makeup removers and scrubbing formulas, fancy masks and creams and moisturizers and lotions, all in an attempt to strip her skin of the memory of the day. Then, almost as an afterthought, she shut the door on the far end of the room that led to Dipper's room before running water for her bath.  
  
And then she was in the water, and it was glorious.  
  
Her fingers and toes, still numb and clumsy from the cold, burned almost painfully when sunk deep into the too-hot water, and the steam curled the tips of her hair even as she combed out her now-ruined bun with her fingers. With just a splash of bubble bath and just a sprinkle of rainbow bath salts, she was practically in paradise, and allowed herself to at last take a deep breath, hold it, and let it out, along with every bad memory she'd been mulling over the whole way home. Her bruised and battered feet, her sugar-induced headache, and her raw, chafed thighs all faded from her mind as she sank deep into the tub, as deep as she could go without sacrificing too much of her legs to the surface, and she sighed and she hummed and she smiled, knowing that no matter what Richmond told his friends, and no matter what sort of rumors she would have to face at school come Monday morning, as long as she could always come home to a hot bath, everything would be okay.  
  
She stayed in for a long time, uncaring of how late it was or how much water she was using, refilling the tub every time it got too cold. Eventually, though, she decided she'd had enough, and climbed out, wrapping herself in her robe and her hair in a towel. She tried to be quiet, knowing Dipper was probably asleep by then, but as she entered her room, prepared to dig through piles of abandoned clothes for her warmest pajamas and go to bed, she was startled to find her bed not as it usually was, with the blankets tugged across it just enough to qualify as "made", but actually neatly made, with a sweater laid out at the end. She frowned at this, and then, taking a closer look around the room, frowned even more. All her stuffed animals were lined up on their shelves by size, and all her necklaces had been untangled from each other and strung up neatly over her vanity. Her closet doors had been shut, and, peeking inside, she found all her clothes hung and organized by color, all her scarves knotted loosely in a row, all her shoes lined up precisely.  
  
Had...  
  
Had Dipper cleaned her room while she'd been in the bath?  
  
That's... odd.  
  
She went again to the bed, frowning at the sweater in confusion. A bright spot of color caught her eye from the window, and she saw there was a blue sticky note stuck to the glass. It was a message scrawled out in her brother's unmistakeable messy hand, each letter looking as though he had only just remembered to add it to the word it belonged to.  
  
_May-bro,_ it began, and she couldn't help smiling at that, at his sad attempt at the fun nicknames she loved so much, _your new fish ate your snail._  
  
Smile gone.  
  
_I put it in water in the kitchen so it doesn't eat anyone else, also I cleaned your room & I probably put everything in the wrong place so we're even now & you don't have to apologize. Whatever happened I'm still going to punch Richmond in the face on monday because_ \- an arrow urged her to flip the note over - _he's a jerk and I've always wanted an excuse. LOVE DIPPINGSAUCE P.S. I'll buy you a new snail if you want P.P.S. we can hold a funeral for him tomorrow P.P.P.S. come outside_  
  
Mabel stuck the note back to the glass with a frown, gaze automatically going to her bedside fishtank. It gave the entire room a pale pink glow thanks to the lights she'd installed, and the plethora of brightly painted mermaids, divers, seashells, treasure chests, and cottages at the bottom made it sort of look like Vacation Barbie's dream home. Peering inside, Mabel spotted her Angelfish, Angel Bob, right away, swimming near the top. Not far from him were the Molly and Swordtail, Mollyanna and Indie, and at the bottom, half-under a plastic bridge, was Ernie the Plecostomus. Sure enough, the new catfish, whom Mabel dubbed at that moment Mr. Traitor, was nowhere to be seen, and all that was left of her beloved Sir Snoot was an empty shell in the corner.  
  
Mabel bid a silent farewell to the poor snail before disrobing and tugging the sweater from her bed on, not bothering to put anything on beneath it. She dug a pair of polka-dot shorts out of her pajama drawer and toweled off her hair, then gave herself a quick once-over in the mirror before pushing her window open and crawling out onto the roof.  
  
The cool air outside felt nice on her bare legs after the heat of the water, the sandpaper texture of the shingles biting at her hands and knees as she made her way carefully across the eave. Down below, the street was quiet, the streetlights casting pale circles down to reveal snatches of sidewalk and grass in neat rows. In one of the circles was half a car, on its roof, a cat, who watched her with glittering eyes.  
  
Mabel made her way to Dipper's window, not far from her own. His room was dark, but, peering inside, she could tell it was just as messy and haphazard as ever. Usually he only cleaned things when he was really worked up about something, like asking a date to prom or not having his cosplay done in time for MonsterMonCon. It was his next step up from pacing and talking to himself, but the only time he had ever cleaned Mabel's room had been several years ago, when his then-girlfriend had gone on a skiing trip and ended up in the hospital. He'd cleaned his own room, then Mabel's, and then the rest of the house, and he probably would have started on the yard if she hadn't called to tell him she was okay.  
  
But this time, he'd only cleaned Mabel's room, ignoring his own. Stranger still, he hadn't started work until she was in the bath, which would indicate that he hadn't been upset until she'd come home, which meant she'd managed to hurt him more than she'd realized.  
  
With this realization sinking like a stone to the pit of her stomach, Mabel continued her journey, now following the faint strains of music she could hear, from over the peak of the roof. Cautiously, she crawled along the eave to the hip of the roof, turning the corner to the backside of the house, that looked out onto the backyard. There, in a nest of blankets and pillows, was Dipper, serenely watching the stars as his camping radio softly serenaded him.  
  
Mabel frowned at him for a moment, hesitant, hoping to be able to decipher just by looking at him whether he were mad at her. He didn't appear too upset, and in fact looked quite peaceful, with an unseasonably warm breeze curling through his hair, bringing with it the promise of spring, stars in his eyes and moonlight on his skin. Mabel almost didn't want to interrupt him, but she knew he knew she was there - she hadn't exactly been quiet in all her crawlings - and his note had asked her to come out, after all.  
  
Suddenly feeling awkward and out of place, Mabel crawled over until she was a few feet away from his nest, curling up with her chin on her knees and her arms folded under her legs, eyes on the shadowed backyard rather than the stars overhead. She was silent, and so was he, for several long moments. Then he spoke, his voice barely louder than the music.  
  
"Do you want to talk about it now?" he asked, and she shook her head, unable to bring herself to look at him. She was being a baby, she knew, but she still didn't want to tell him what Richmond had done. It would be easier to forget it, herself, that way.  
  
Another long moment drifted by, and the song changed from something happy and upbeat to a tune more thoughtful and sweet. She shivered, her damp hair slowly freezing across her back, and, without looking at her or speaking, Dipper moved over on his nest, making room for her. She gratefully moved to his side, curling up into a ball beside him and tugging the corners of several blankets over herself, burrowing into the warm place he'd vacated for her. With the top of her head pressed into the hollow of his armpit, her forehead against his ribs, she allowed herself a small smile, glad everything seemed to have been forgiven. She hadn't meant it, those things she'd said, and looking back, she could now see he had only wanted to help.  
  
They were quiet for a long time, and Mabel listened to him breathe and felt his heart steadily beating, noting how nicely her perfume mingled with his own scent. After a time, he moved, pulling her head out from under his arm to speak to her.  
  
"Do you see those three stars there?" he asked, and Mabel reluctantly lifted her head to see where he was pointing, just over the treetops in their neighbor's backyard. There were three bright stars in a row, set at an angle and twinkling gently, like sequins on a sweater's sleeve cuff.  
  
"Mmm," she said, peering at them. She watched his outstretched finger trace lines in the air, though her perspective was skewed from his, and his lines didn't make sense to her.  
  
"That's Orion's belt, and there's Betelgeuse, and down there is Rigel," he said, drawing a vaguely boxy shape. "All together they make Orion, and he's facing Taurus, over there. See?"  
  
Mabel frowned, squinting at the bright specks dotted here and there. They weren't as bright here as they had been in Gravity Falls, nor as plentiful. She had a sudden, sharp longing for the view of the sky from the old Shack's roof. "Not really," she admitted. "And those names sound kind of fake. Are you sure you're not making them up?"  
  
He continued, but she could hear a smile in his voice when he said, "That star there is Aledbaran, it's part of Taurus, and there behind him is... well, you can't really see them with all the pollution, but over there there's a cluster of stars called Pleiades, the seven sisters."  
  
Mabel snorted, tiredly allowing her head to fall back down, somehow landing on his chest rather than the blankets. He didn't seem to mind, so she left it there. "If aliens are real," she said, "they're probably laughing at us because of dorks like you."  
  
He grinned, and she watched it happen. It was sort of lovely, she thought. He glanced sideways at her, and she smiled, too. This was already a thousand times better than Richmond's stupid party.  
  
"So the story of Pleiades is that they're the daughters of Atlas and Pleione," he continued, now using his other hand to gesture, so as not to disturb Mabel's comfortable position, curled against him, his arm warm along her back. "Supposedly Orion fell in love with them, so Zeus put them among the stars, and Orion followed them, and now he pursues them across the sky."  
  
Mabel blinked at the stars tiredly. "Definitely made up," she decided, trying and failing to imagine the three stars as the belt of a warrior, or the hidden cluster as seven ladies. She pulled her arm out from between them to point to a different group of stars, tracing her own shapes. "Look, there's Bicuspid, the Masticator. And that's the West Ghost, that you follow to find your way home after you die."  
  
Dipper snorted. "Oh, really?"  
  
"And Cancer, see, it's not really a crab, if you look at it this way it's a unicorn with a dog riding its back."  
  
Dipper laughed, pulling her closer. "Actually, that's Gemini," he said, then added, softly, "the twins."  
  
They both smiled then, and linked hands almost automatically, lapsing into silence, watching the stars and listening to the radio. It was still cold out, but with their combined body heat and the blankets, it was bearable. The edge of the horizon was beginning to fade subtly to pink, and Mabel followed its progress sleepily, content to lie there forever, with her brother at her side and his comforting scent surrounding her. He really did smell good, all rainy days and daffodils, and it was a long moment of her concentrating on that smell before it hit her.  
  
She wasn't wearing any perfume.  
  
"Dipper," she said, or sort of mumbled. She was half-asleep, and hadn't even noticed. He didn't respond, and she nudged his side a little, repeating herself more insistently.  
  
"Hmmmwhat?" he grumbled, sleepy and unfocused. He stretched and moved out from under her, curling up more comfortably on his side. She shifted closer, pressing her forehead to his, and looked him right in the eye.  
  
"Why are you wearing my perfume?"  
  
His eyes flicked open.  
  
"Um," he said.  
  
"Dipper," she insisted, then softened. She offered him a small smile, poking him gently in the ribs until he made eye contact.  
  
"Dipper," she said, more playfully.  
  
" 'M not," he mumbled, looking away again. "Must've rubbed off on me when I was in your room, or something."  
  
Mabel screwed up her face at that. She knew her room usually smelled nice, but more like fresh air and sunshine than her perfume, that very distinct smell she would know anywhere. She rarely wore it, as her mother had given it to her for her birthday one year, and had told her she had had it since she was young, and that it wasn't made anymore. As important as her date with Richmond had once been, it hadn't been anywhere near important enough to wear that particular perfume.  
  
She stared hard at him for a moment, but couldn't help smiling again at the abashed expression on her brother's face. He shut his mouth tightly and refused to look at her again, even when she pinched his cheeks and tickled him, tugging his hair and calling him variants of his name. It wasn't until she got up and sat on him that he even protested, but even then he barely looked at her at all.  
  
"Dipper," she said, poking a finger into his ear in an attempt to lighten his mood, "just tell me! I won't be mad!"  
  
He rolled his eyes and sighed. "I didn't think you would be," he muttered.  
  
“So what’s the problem?” Mabel laughed, jostling him from her position straddling his side. He was still in the same position he’d begun in, and only shot her an annoyed glance as she bounced on him a little when he didn’t answer right away.  
  
“...It’s kinda quiet around here when you’re gone,” he said at last, sort of mumbling it into the blankets. Mabel had to pause and go over his words in her head several times before she next spoke, trying to puzzle out his response.  
  
“Yeah, it’s boring when you’re gone, too, so what?” She said, frowning down at him.  
  
“Well, you’ve been so excited about this thing with Richmond lately, I guess I’ve been feeling a little left out, maybe,” he said, still mumbling. Mabel’s stomach gave a nasty jolt at the mention of Richmond’s name, but she did her best to push the unpleasant thoughts to the back of her mind.  
  
“So you start wearing my perfume and hope I don’t notice?” She said, laughing a little at the notion. “It smells nice, I know, but still…”  
  
He frowned. “It’s not like that. I really didn’t put any on, it must’ve rubbed off on me somehow. But - “  
  
Mabel laughed. “Oh, come on! I haven’t worn that stuff in like a bazillion years - since that time we went to the opera, remember? So unless you were, like, wearing my black dress…”  
  
Dipper, still pinned under her, laced his fingers together and slowly brought his palms up to cover his face, letting out a very, very deep sigh.  
  
“Oh,” Mabel said.  
  
“Okay, no, well, I wasn’t _wearing_ it,” he spluttered, suddenly beginning to gesture wildly with his hands, as Mabel slid from his side to sit beside him, surprised, certainly, but somehow not as shocked as she felt she ought to. He sat up, and wouldn’t face her, instead looking out across the backyard.  
  
“Look, alright, I was just - “ He interrupted himself with a frustrated sound, gesturing uselessly. Mabel frowned, hugging her knees to her chest as she watched him, doing her best to make some sense out of the noises he was making. “I was... you were out on your date and I was - “  
  
“Dipper,” she said slowly, doing her best to sound as serious as possible, “just tell me. I won’t be mad or anything, I promise.”  
  
He ran his hands over his face and through his hair a few times, clearly agitated. At last, he closed his eyes and seemed to brace himself before turning to face her, a guarded look hovering about his expression. Mabel braced herself, too, for whatever he was about to say.  
  
“Okay so I cleaned your room because I made sort of a mess in there,” he began, his words sort of coming out all at once, surprising her. “While you were gone I was in there sort of poking around because I was bored, and your stuff was all over the place and I thought I would maybe straighten things up a little, because you always arrange your books by color instead of by height and that drives me _crazy,_ and your dress was hanging on the back of your door kind of half on the hanger and I went to fix it but it smelled like you and - “  
  
He broke off, looking a little startled he’d said even that much. Mabel furrowed her brow, trying and failing to make sense of it all.  
  
“So… what?” She asked. “If you weren’t wearing it then what were you doing? And why were you in my room in the first place? I mean, thanks for getting rid of Mr. Traitor and for making my bed and everything, but this is still not making any sense.” She went over what he’d said again in her head, until something clicked, and she gasped loudly.  
  
“You weren’t - on my _bed?”_ She hissed, gesturing a little, herself, though not very accurately.  
  
“Oh, geez, no, no way!” He exclaimed, recoiling at the thought. “I mean, if I were gonna do that I - I mean, you really think I would, with… that’s - that’s… a _really_ nice dress, Mabel.”  
  
Mabel stared at him, mouth dropped open. “So you’re saying if it were some cheapo thing from the thrift store you’d - you’d - go to town on it? Is that what you’re telling me, here?”  
  
His expression of shocked disbelief matched hers, save for a deep blush rising high on his cheeks. “Of course not, Mabel! What - do you actually think I _would?!”_  
  
“No… I don’t know,” Mabel said, glum and apologetic. “But if you would just say what you mean I wouldn’t have to keep guessing! You keep saying all this stuff about messing up my room and my bed and stuff but I just don’t get it!”  
  
They both huffed a sigh at that, frustrated and embarrassed. He turned away, drawing his knees up to his chest and folding his arms over them, moodily staring straight ahead. The sun was rising steadily now, bathing the whole neighborhood in a soft golden light, and a woodpecker alit on the edge of the chimney to watch them curiously. Mabel shot it a _what am I supposed to do, here?_ glance, as though it could offer her some insight to the situation, but it only blinked and began preening its feathers.  
  
Mabel sighed and scootched closer to her brother, hesitantly placing a hand on his shoulder when he didn’t react.  
  
“Dipper,” she said, “come on. I promise, whatever it is, I’ll do my best not to flip out, okay? I mean, if you weren’t doing… you know, _that,_ then it can’t be that bad, right? …I know you said I didn’t have to apologize for the stuff I said to you, but I do, and I’m really, really sorry, I didn’t mean to blow up like that, so if it’s that you’re still mad at me, or that I hurt your feelings then I’m so sorry, I’ll try to make it up to you, really, I - “  
  
“Oh, god, Mabes, no, this isn’t about that at all,” Dipper interrupted, just as her voice was starting to go a little wobbly. “It’s… I really…” He paused, and sucked in a long breath, holding it for what seemed like forever. Then, all at once, he said, “I was cleaning up your room and I saw your dress and I thought I should hang it back up and put it away, right? Like, at least where Mr. President’s fur wouldn’t get all over it, but it smelled so good and I missed you so much and we had so much fun that night at the opera, remember how we almost got caught sneaking candy in during the intermission and you pretended to have an asthma attack so the guy wouldn’t hear the plastic crinkling, and he almost called for paramedics and I had to run out to the car to pretend to get your inhaler and I twisted my ankle - “  
  
Mabel couldn’t help laughing as the memory came back to her. “Oh my gosh, yes! And we totally got away with it but then we had to pretend you were fine the whole rest of the night, and you pretended to be really tired so I could help you walk to the car - “  
  
“Right, and then we went out to eat and every time you moved your boobs crinkled because of the packages you had stuffed in your bra, and Dad kept thinking there must have been a cricket in the car - “  
  
“And when we got home they thought you were limping, and we proved you were fine by doing a waltz in the living room, and then we had to pretend to be tired so we could go to bed, and then I crawled out of my window to come to your room to help you wrap your ankle!” Mabel finished. “That night was the _best!”_  
  
“Yeah, it was,” Dipper agreed, now facing her again, smiling happily at the memory. “Anyway, I was thinking about that night, and remember how awesome we looked all dressed up? I think there’s a picture of us from that night lying around somewhere, well, I was thinking about how we did that dance, and how we couldn’t stop laughing? Remember? And even though my ankle hurt a lot I still managed to totally pull off that dip?”  
  
Mabel snickered and punched his arm. “Yeah, okay, that was pretty cool.”  
  
“Yeah, so…” Dipper shrugged, rubbing the heel of a hand across his face tiredly. Watching his exhaustion, Mabel realized she hadn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours, now, and there was no telling how long he’d been up. He was always up late working on some project or another, anything from homework to researching alien activity to painting model spaceships. They both needed to get some sleep, and soon, before their sleep schedules were ruined forever. “So I guess I got kinda caught up in the moment. And I may have… possibly been… uh, dancing. With the dress. A little bit.”  
  
Mabel squinted at him, struggling to comprehend what he’d just said. “Dancing… with the dress…?”  
  
He bowed his head, only daring to shoot her a sideways glance after she huffed a small sigh. She leaned her head on his shoulder, frowning in thought, patting his foot absently. After a few moments, she laughed, suddenly finding the whole situation ridiculous.  
  
“Dipper Pines,” she said, nudging him playfully and giving him her best come-hither look, all fluttering eyelashes and kissy lips, “would you prefer to dance with me?”  
  
He blinked, startled, then snorted and ruffled her hair, leaning in to plank a kiss on her cheek. “I would love to.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any formatting mistakes, this is my first time posting on this site.


End file.
